


In The Service of the Elven King

by Avia_Isadora



Series: Of Elves and Men [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29996973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avia_Isadora/pseuds/Avia_Isadora
Summary: Young Aragorn has been banished from Rivendell because of his love for Arwen, Elrond's daughter.  Many years as a ranger lie before him.  Here is how he began them.
Series: Of Elves and Men [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2205072
Kudos: 13





	In The Service of the Elven King

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the first part of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen in the appendices to the Lord of the Rings.

Aragorn came to the halls of King Thranduil in the autumn of his twenty second year, following the Elven Road through Mirkwood with Gandalf the Grey. The gates of the Elven King were approached by a narrow bridge over a deep ravine, and the pillars were carved in the shape of mighty trees. There were no ramparts, just the side of the hill festooned with evergreens and oaks. The guards did not hold them, save for detaining them briefly in the guardroom just inside while a man went to tell King Thranduil that the wizard was there. 

"Now listen to me," Gandalf said in a low voice, glancing at the armsmen who stood a short distance away between them and the entrance to the halls, "King Thranduil is not Lord Elrond. He is proud, vain, quick-tempered and rarely says anything directly when intrigue might serve. You will watch what you say and follow my lead."

"Then why have you brought me here?" Aragorn asked. "Why do you want me to give him my service?"

"Because you must learn to be a king," Gandalf said sharply. "And you will not learn that from Lord Elrond. You will certainly not learn it sulking in Bree."

"I wasn't sulking," Aragorn said. "I had nowhere else to go."

"And whose fault was that?" Gandalf asked. "If you had maintained some discretion and not imagined yourself a latter-day Beren…" He broke off with a huff. "You will learn war and politics from King Thranduil. Especially politics. Especially war."

Aragorn felt a wave of loyalty rising for the one he had always revered as a father, broken though that bond might be. "Lord Elrond taught me to use a sword."

Gandalf was glancing through the inner doors, the guards just out of earshot. "Elrond is my dear friend, and I esteem him greatly. He is perhaps the wisest of all creatures in Middle Earth. But he is not a general, nor even a warrior by choice. And he cannot teach you large unit tactics as he might perhaps muster eighty if he called upon every able body in Rivendell who had any skill with weapons! Imladris is a house, not a kingdom. The Woodland Realm is the greatest Elven kingdom remaining in the west of Middle Earth. There is a reason that is so."

"King Thranduil," Aragorn said.

"Yes. For nearly three thousand years since the Last Alliance he has ruled this realm. I will not say that he has always done so wisely or well, but he is still here!" Gandalf's bushy brows knitted. "And that counts for quite a lot, actually."

"I see," Aragorn said. 

The guardsman returned. "Mithrandir, King Thranduil will see you."

Aragorn followed the wizard over another bridge, this one within the hollow hill itself. It cut through high, soaring caverns while beneath there was the sound of flowing water, the river that had cut these magnificent halls. White lights hung down in globes of crystal, lit within by undying fire. "What are those?" Aragorn asked in a low voice.

Gandalf didn't turn as he answered. "Those were made by the great smith Celebrimbor for King Oropher, Thranduil's father -- elf fire in globes imperishable. One of his lesser works."

"Ah," Aragorn said. 

The path soared upwards at a gentle slope to a high dais and above it a throne crowned with massive antlers, a flow of scarlet silk down the side of it like a splash of blood. On the throne sat a man.

No, not a man. An elf. No one could possibly mistake him for a man. His hair was flaxen fair and his eyes were blue, his features sharp and perfect and feral. His robe was trimmed in white fox fur, bright contrast to its deep blue color, the shade of a midnight pool, but beneath its hem he wore supple leather boots well creased from wear. He wore rings on five fingers, each sparkling with clear white gems.

And yet when he spoke it was with courtesy. "Mithrandir! Well met, my friend. What brings you to the Woodland Realm? Do I hope that you will spend the winter in these halls?"

"Alas, I cannot tarry long," Gandalf said with a broad smile, approaching the steps of the throne and seeming to take no offense that Thranduil did not rise. "I have much to do, and most of it in lands that do not know the peace of your rule."

"Peace," Thranduil said, one beringed hand opening against his thigh. "We have peace enough since the Battle of Five Armies. The dead are at peace."

"And the living too, I hope."

"For the moment," the king said. He turned his head, profile perfect in the light, and it came to Aragorn that his pose was purposeful, to impress and dismay. "But no peace lasts forever. We shall use this Watchful Peace. As no doubt will our enemies."

"Thus speaks Thranduil, wiser than most in Middle Earth," Gandalf said formally. "There are many who believe that the Enemy is gone."

"When shall evil ever cease?" Thranduil asked. "I do not believe it can ever be so, for that is not how the world was made."

Aragorn shifted from one foot to another trying to hide his astonishment. Surely the world was made by Eru, and it was made perfect? It was only marred by the song of Melkor and descended from what it might have been. To hear an Elven lord speak such heresy shocked him to the core.

Thranduil's eye fell upon him. It did not pierce his soul, but it weighed his appearance without approval. "And who is this man you bring with you, unkempt as he is?"

"This is Edelharn," Gandalf said. "One of the Dunedan. A former protégé of Lord Elrond's. He grew up in Rivendell and has journeyed with me."

"It is a very great honor to meet you," Aragorn said with a deep bow, his Sindarin entirely fluent. "I have heard much of Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, and his realm."

"You are well spoken," the king said, "Be welcome here." He looked back at Gandalf. "Do you travel on then to Erebor?"  
"I do," Gandalf said. "To Laketown and Erebor and then to the Iron Hills and thence south to Dorwinnion."

"You have much business," Thranduil said with the lift of one sculpted eyebrow. "One might imagine you sought something."

"I do," Gandalf said. "I seek word of the Enemy. If he is not in Dol Guldur he is somewhere else. I mean to discover where."

At that Thranduil shrugged carelessly, though Aragorn saw that his hand clenched where it lay beneath the fold of his robe. "If he is gone from these lands, so be it. Let him boil his trouble in the uttermost East!"

"There are Avari still in those lands who shall be troubled," Gandalf said mildly, "Not to mention men and dwarves."

"Then let them look to their own," Thranduil said, uncrossing his legs with an abrupt gesture. "Too many of ours have I buried in these last years, and too many given to the pyres before Erebor. These are not the days of the Last Alliance, and I will not risk my kin again."

"And yet yours is the largest Elven army remaining in Middle Earth," Gandalf replied, and Aragorn was not certain what lay behind his soft tone.

Neither, apparently, was Thranduil, as he gave him a sharp look. "If it is so, it is because it is scarce-used. If I threw my strength at every enemy I would soon have none. And if I threw my people at every hazard, I should be a poor sovereign indeed."

Aragorn drew breath, and Thranduil's eyes fell on him. "You are Rivendell bred, and doubtless sucked down tales of the Noldor's glory with your mother's pap. The glory of the First Age, no doubt, when elves rode about on white horses with bright banners flowing!" He got to his feet, graceful as a cat. "Ah for the great days, when the Sons of Feanor contended with Morgoth and the Fathers of Men battled impossible odds!' He lifted one jeweled hand. "But until you have stood on a battlefield between a thousand mutilated corpses and smelled the stench that rises from their entrails, until you have gone among them seeking your kin for the pyre, do not talk to me of glory. I have done those things far too often, and I will not do them again except at great need."

Aragorn dropped his eyes, feeling his face flush. "I meant no disrespect, my lord," he said.

Thranduil turned to Gandalf. "Why did you bring this one here? I do not believe it was happenstance."

Gandalf answered heartily. "Edelharn wished to take service with an elven lord. He hoped that I might put in a good word with you."

"Look at me," Thranduil said, and Aragorn looked up. "Why do you wish to take service with me?"

"He hoped that he might gain experience with a well trained force…" Gandalf began.

"Let the man speak for himself." Thranduil came down the steps of the throne. Standing before him, he was no taller than Aragorn and more lightly built, but his presence was no less than it had been upon his perch. Man, he said. Not boy.

"I want to learn how to command," Aragorn said. "And I have heard there is none better than you in Middle Earth."

"And what would you command?" Thranduil asked, passing around him in a circle. 

He would know if he were lied to, and so Aragorn did not lie, though he felt Gandalf stiffen. "Armies of men."

"To what end? Glory? Wealth? Power?"

Aragorn took a deep breath. "My father was slain by orcs when I was a baby. My mother fled with me in her arms, and I have no memory of my home. My kin are scattered and every year the lands of Eriador grow more desolate. Every year there are fewer farms and fewer travelers on the roads, and we are poorer and weaker. And the orcs grow stronger. I would learn to command so that my people will not utterly perish." He stopped, swallowing. "Maybe if my father had been better, he would not be dead."

"I have said the same thing myself," Thranduil said coldly. His tone was cold, but when Aragorn looked up his eyes were not. They rested on him with a kind of sympathy. "He lies beneath the Dead Marshes now, and corpse-lights mark his grave and that of those who went to war with him. Only one in ten came home of all the elves of the Greenwood who followed Oropher."

Aragorn could not look away from his eyes, though he heard Gandalf stir. "And you, sir?"

"I was fortunate." Thranduil turned away, a half turn that brought him back to the foot of the throne. "Unprepared king of a decimated realm." He lifted one hand to the soaring ceilings, his chin raised. "And you see what I have built."

"I do, my lord," Aragorn said. "And that is what I would learn. For in truth, I would rather build than kill, though I know both must be done."

Thranduil smiled, a tightlipped smile that did not reach his eyes. "Can you use a sword?"  
"Well enough, my lord."

"A bow?"

"I have some familiarity, though no great skill." Aragorn knew better than to exaggerate that, as surely if he gained a place he would be at the butts tomorrow.

"I presume you ride."

"Yes."

"We do not keep horses here." Thranduil glanced at Gandalf. "They are of no use to us."

"He is willing and able, dear king," Gandalf said with his most ingratiating smile. Aragorn thought it did not impress Thranduil a bit. "A very good boy."

"He is a man, not a boy," Thranduil said. "And responsible for himself, unless you mean to name yourself his grandsire."

"Not I," Gandalf said, looking momentarily disconcerted. 

"Ah," Thranduil said with a smile. "I suppose the love of mortal women is beyond your ken." 

Gandalf harrumphed, and Aragorn looked down in confusion, attempting to parse that out. Did he mean to emphasize mortal, women, or both? Was that threat or flirtation, strange as that might be? Or the acknowledgement of some liaison, shameful or otherwise, of which Aragorn knew nothing?

Thranduil spoke again, and Aragorn looked up. "I will keep you upon a year's trial, Edelharn. If I am satisfied, and so are you, when one year has passed then we may discuss whether or not you will stay. During this year I shall provide to you all the sustenance and reward usual to my guard, and you will give me your obedience. If you fail me, I shall send you forth. Is that clear?"

"It is very clear, my lord," Aragorn said, bowing. "I am grateful for your kindness and for this opportunity to prove myself."

"See that you do," Thranduil said, and extended his long, pale hand. It was white as ice, but warm when Aragorn bent his face and kissed his ring.


End file.
